Tag Archives: Australia

Ouch, Jesus!

As I said at the start of the service this morning, I am speaking at an event in our grounds this Thursday, arranged by Fremantle Council, about my work in India to help combat modern slavery. I can’t think of a single thing more important than ending the buying and selling of humans. It is that thing that I will never stop working for – the thing I would go to prison for, if I thought it would help – the thing I might even die for. And I won’t talk much about my adventures in India, or the stories of the precious women and children I met there, because I want you to come on Thursday night, but I can’t help being reminded of those people and their plight, when I hear this morning’s first reading.

Today we only get the ‘happily-ever-after’ bit, but Joseph’s full story is one of favouritism, bad parenting, jealousy, murder attempts, human trafficking, lies, false imprisonment and eventual redemption – God sent me here to preserve life, Joseph tells his slave trading brothers. Or, as one of my favourite bible verses later says, what you intended for harm, God intended for good. And Joseph kissed his brothers and wept with them, and they talked together.

Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery, faked his death, separated him from his beloved dad, he was tricked, imprisoned, forgotten about and then, when they are reunited, Joseph kissed them, wept with them, and talked with them. It’s almost like he heard Jesus’ teaching from today’s gospel reading, some 6 or 7 centuries before he said them.

Loving his enemies, doing good to those who had hated him, blessing those who had cursed him, freely giving to them, choosing not to judge but to forgive. And Jesus tells us to do likewise. It doesn’t make for easy listening, does it?

At best it sounds like an impossibly hard task, good but almost entirely unattainable. At worst it sounds like allowing others to abuse us, walk all over us, a real wet response. But I don’t think either sound like the Jesus I believe in.

And as I reflected on that, so I remembered the first visit to the brothels, while I was in Mumbai – full of imprisoned and trafficked women, like Joseph, and full of those who were buying and selling them – like Joseph’s brothers.

I kept a journal while I was there and one particular day I wrote this…

I’ll never forget stepping into the first brothel and seeing the women; a diverse mix of young and old, loud and silent, laughing and staring, fully clothed and almost naked. Instantly I loved these women. Instantly I could see they are children of God and that God’s image is clearly stamped on them; they weren’t the dirty, cheap, slur on society they are often painted as…

And then I saw the men. And I despised them.

They made me want to scream: How dare you touch these beautiful women and think you can buy them? How dare you mar the image of the creator in these precious children?

Then the challenge from God began.

“They are my children too” God said.
“They are made in My image too”
“My image is marred in them, but it is not destroyed”
“They are my children and I love them”

Last Thursday I shook hands with the first pimp I have ever knowingly met. I looked at him – he was small and polite. He asked me my name, in English. I told him my name, in Hindi, and asked him his. Kasim.

 …And all I kept thinking was “you buy and sell women and children for sex”.

And God kept saying to me “can you see Jesus in Kasim?”.

And the truth is, to my shame, I couldn’t, but maybe this is what Jesus means when he says love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return…bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you…Do not judge. Forgive…

Love them because they are also beloved of God

Do good because everyone deserves that, even those we think don’t

Bless, pray, give, forgive.

Not because we are better but because everyone is our equal, everyone is made in the image of God and bears God’s image in their very soul. And because doing these things is good for us and God always wants what is good.

Withholding blessings, prayer, and refusing to forgive is bad for our hearts, souls and bodies and how can we hope others will encounter the gift of love God has for all people if we refuse to love, or if we set conditions on who or how much?

Jesus calls us to such a high standard of living, not as a to-do list for God to love us, but so we might live more freely, just exactly as we are created to.  And that others might too.

We work through the deep and difficult work of forgiveness so we are released from carrying and holding resentments that hold us captive.

We strive to love our enemies because otherwise we are poisoned and drawn into a life of harming others.

We do good to those who hate us, not to encourage behaviours of hate, but because we are committed to counteracting them.

And these responses are God-given because they change us. They reorient us. They place us right back into the truths of who we are: God’s beloved children…just like our enemies.

Ultimately these acts, which may seem defeatist and disempowering, centre us in a powerful place of knowing who we are, and who God is. When we act in these ways, these counterintuitive ways to how the world works, we claim truths about God, ourselves, and how God calls us to respond towards others.

We love because we are loved

We love others because they are also loved

That’s really it

How tough it is, what a life’s work it is, but the alternative doesn’t bear considering.

In the Kingdom of God, the alternative doesn’t even exist. Amen.

Jesus is his Mama’s boy…

Do you ever open your mouth, and your mum pops out?! Unnerving isn’t it!

So often I hear Sue Sampson coming out of my mouth. Her compassion for refugees, her frustration of inefficiency, her hatred of injustice, her defiance of the patriarchy and certain political leaders, her love of trashy TV and always the glass of wine…There’s rarely any doubt that I am my mother’s daughter.

And in this morning’s gospel, we encounter something similar: Jesus, God’s Son is very much Mary’s boy. Did you notice?

When Mary discovered she was carrying the saviour of the world in her body, she burst into her song of liberation and justice – the one we call the Magnificat. With the Christ inside her she was able to see the world as it really could be, as it really should be, where the hungry are filled, the proud are brought low and the humble take their place; the rich are sent away empty, and the poor are provided for. I wonder how often she sang that song as Jesus grew. I wonder if she sang it to him at bedtime or bath time. I wonder if she sang it while he was a baby, a boy, a teenager, and an adult. I wonder if she maybe even sang it as she knelt at the foot of his cross.

Obviously we don’t know but hearing this morning’s gospel passage it is clear to me that it became very much part of Jesus’ DNA because by the time we join him at the ‘level place’ this morning he is preaching it for himself, almost word for word: Blessed are the poor, Blessed are the hungry, Blessed are those who weep, Blessed are the hated. Woe to the rich, woe to those who are full, woe to those who are spoken highly of.

Yep, Jesus really is his mama’s boy.

And just as Mary’s Magnificat makes for uncomfortable listening so too does the same message when it comes out of Jesus’ mouth, particularly for us…because we are way more among the ‘woe’s than the ‘blessed’s. But what can we do about that, because simply by birth we are fortunate enough to be counted with the rich and rejoicing and not the poor or hungry. And yes, we can give away what we have. We can try to share our power and our privilege. Of course we can, and we must, but the thing that struck me about these lists this week is the first point – blessed are the poor, for theirs, yours, is the kingdom of God.

And isn’t the point of following Jesus, isn’t the main point something about building God’s Kingdom here and now, spotting where it is cropping up and joining in. Didn’t we sign up to this Jesus movement to live in and extend God’s Kingdom and invite others to join us there too?

Blessed are the poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God.

If that is true – and Jesus says it is – then perhaps we should not only try to give up our wealth, but we should also be hanging out with those who are genuinely poor. If we want to experience the kingdom of God, that is where we will find it.

This week, many of you know, I went back to the prison at Perth Airport to visit our friends Ned, Aref and Javad. That place is like staring into the depths of hell. It is sterile and inhumane. It is devoid of compassion or friendship. It crushes spirits and sends hope away empty. It reflects all that is bad about humankind and shows a terrifying side of what one human can do to another and what one political system can inflict on those who are most vulnerable.

All three of our friends are in a bad way at the moment. Ned is being denied access to mental health treatment that he so desperately needs and is protesting that by refusing food. Aref, usually so full of hopeful expectation had really dropped his head. And eloquent and beautiful Javad broke my heart when he told me, ‘I own nothing, I have nothing, not even these clothes I wear, because at any point [these guards] can take it from me, so nothing I own is mine. It’s theirs’. He went on to say ‘you can live without food for weeks and you can live without water for days but you can’t live without hope, even for a minute so I am not living. I am just breathing’.

Blessed are the poor and hungry for yours is the kingdom of God.

Sitting at the gates of hell with these men reveals the kingdom of God. And I don’t know how that happens or even really what that means but I do believe it to be true. The detention centre does not feature in God’s Kingdom – the exclusion of refugees or boat people – the blind eye we turn to those who are literally starving themselves to death – those things are not aspects of the Kingdom of God but by being alongside these guys, by standing in solidarity with them, we somehow glimpse something of another way. A new world.

The needs of Javad and Ned and Aref make me feel paralysed and powerless. They bring me to the end of myself. And then, in that paradox, there I find God. Reaching the end of ourselves meant that many of you turned up at the centre yesterday and protested their treatment. Reaching the end of who we are meant several others came and lamented here at mass or joined in online or in our homes or are planning to go to the edge of humanity and sit with those guys in their cell and listen to their stories. And as we do, so we enter a new dimension of the Kingdom of God. I don’t know how that works, but it does.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian, describes the Magnificat as ‘the most passionate, the wildest, the most revolutionary song ever sung’. Here on the mount Jesus sings his version of it, with his whole heart. As we seek to follow Him, may we find our own song of revolution, and may we sing it with all we have and all we are and as it changes us so may it also change the world. Amen.

Truth.

Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.

And before you were born, I consecrated you.

I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.

You shall speak whatever I command you.

Do not be afraid.

These words from our Old Testament reading this morning were a promise to Jeremiah, but when we read them alongside our Gospel reading, I think they could just as easily be written for Jesus. And even for us too.

Have you ever wondered about the conversation God might’ve had with the Trinity before God the son was conceived in Mary’s womb?  What did the divine parent say to Jesus – did Jesus receive a mission, was the plan shared, was there a specific plan, and when he was born as a human baby did he remember it, or did it come back to him as he grew. Or did he only know he was the son of God when he heard it proclaimed at his baptism? Was it as much of a surprise to him as it was to the others, gathered on the riverbank that day?  The truth is, we don’t know but, by the time we get to this scene in the synagogue, Jesus certainly does know.

The spirit is upon ME, Jesus says.

And he knows exactly what his purpose is.

The spirit is upon ME, to preach good news to the poor, bring sight to the blind, win release for captives, smash oppression and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.

Whenever Jesus became aware of his call, whenever he figured out what his life’s purpose was, he knew it by the time he stood up to read those scrolls that day, in his hometown.

And all spoke well of him and were amazed at the words that came from his mouth.

The synagogue was packed; word had got out that this itinerant preacher was coming home; he’d been doing amazing things all over the place and now it’s our turn to see him perform miracles and do great things for us. And he stands up and speaks with such boldness, such prophetic truth and everyone was amazed.

Isn’t this guy Joseph’s son?

Didn’t our children go to lessons together?

Aren’t his family sat right over there?

All were amazed at him.

So, what changed? How come, just 6 verses later, all in the synagogue were filled with rage?  They got up, drove him out of the town and led him to the brow of the cliff so they might hurl him off.  Why was there such a turnaround and such a strong, murderous reaction to what he was saying?  They had known Jesus as a child. But had they really known him? Because here he is telling them he is a prophet, here he is suggesting – pretty boldly – that he’s the messiah. Isn’t that what they want? Isn’t that who they have been waiting for?

Jesus comes to the synagogue with this great message – a message that is good news for the poor, sight for the blind, freedom for those in captivity, liberation for those who are oppressed – and everyone loves it – and then Jesus says, no prophet is accepted in his hometown. Basically, there’s nothing I can do for you here. Ouch.

Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing. But it is for the poor and the blind and the incarcerated and the oppressed. And they don’t like that because they want it to be for them. They want the goodness all for themselves. And isn’t that a condition of the human heart. As it was for them, how often is that true for us too?

Things switched dramatically in the temple that day. From amazement to vicious death threats. A total 180. And it seems that the crime Jesus committed, over and over, the one that sentenced him to death – first here in the synagogue and later at the cross is summed up in one word: TRUTH.

Jesus told the truth and people didn’t like it. Speaking the truth won’t win you friends, and it will threaten to get you killed. And it is the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

Jesus’ message of good news is really good, but it also means raises some uncomfortable truths. Jesus’ message causes us to examine ourselves and acknowledge we aren’t the ones who are poor, blind, incarcerated and oppressed. Jesus’ message invites us to join the ranks of those who willingly give away some of our own privilege in order that others may thrive and grow and live. It means we need to hold onto those Old Testament promises made to Jeremiah and Jesus, and us – that we were known by God before our very conception, that we are consecrated and called for a holy purpose, that we have a job to do, that we must speak out truth and love, just as we are commanded, and without fear because God is with us.

Jesus’ listeners in first century Palestine, in his hometown, only heard the deeply unsettling truth that God favours the poor and the oppressed. And it made them murderous. But the bottom line is that this is the truth. And we are not poor. But God shares God’s work with us. And we have the enormous and profound privilege of being able to become God’s hands and feet and mouthpiece in this generation. We can choose to be amazed by that invitation and take it. Or we can put ourselves first and turn it down. We can take truth and live with it, or we can try to kill it.

Later this morning we are going to pray God’s blessing upon our young people as they return to school, to a new school year, to a new school for some of them. I am going to pray that they know they were called and set apart before they were even conceived, for works of greatness, and that they might fulfil them, even today, even as children, even in their hometown. I’m going to pray that they will speak boldly, caring first for the poor and the oppressed. As you pray for them too, may you also know that you were born for works of greatness and that your greatest work is to care first and foremost for the poor and oppressed, following after the example of Jesus, and may this truth be the truth that sets you free.  Amen.

Hope is Fierce!

Luke 21: 25-38

Wednesday night, just gone, I had a particularly bad night’s sleep and at 4am I found myself forming a sermon for this morning. Pretty pleased with myself for completing this task so early in the week I fell back to sleep with a smug grin. It was an ok sermon as well – advent is about waiting, I don’t like waiting, what things shall we do while we’re waiting – that was the kind of gist of it. Pretty solid. Maybe I’ll save it for next year, I certainly cant preach it today because on Thursday morning I woke up to some awful news from back home and it resonates so deeply with this morning’s apocalyptic gospel reading that I knew a complete rewrite had to be in order…

‘There will be … confusion by the roaring of the sea and the waves’, Jesus said

On Wednesday afternoon, this week, at 2pm GMT – just as we were beginning what for me was that sleepless night, 28 people died in the English Channel, while trying to cross from Calais to the UK in a small inflatable boat – the biggest loss of life by drowning in the Channel in many years.  The BBC reported 27 deaths: 17 men, 7 women, 3 children, but there was also an unborn child, because one of those women was pregnant and that child’s life counts, and was lost too, so the number is 28. Two of the passengers survived, and only one of those who died has so far been identified: 24-year-old Maryam Nuri Mohammed Amin – a Kurd from Northern Iraq, who was travelling to the UK to surprise her fiancé.

She messaged him as the dinghy began to lose air and sink. She told him the boat was deflating and they were trying to get the water out of it. He said, ‘she was trying to reassure me in her last message and give me hope that the authorities were on their way to rescue them, but the help came too late’.

She was trying to give him hope.

‘There will be distress’ Jesus said

On Thursday, this week, it was the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women and the start of a campaign called 16 Days in WA.

16 days in WA draws inspiration from the global movement for 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-based Violence to create change in culture, behaviour and attitudes that lead to violence against women and their children.  Politicians took to social media with their slogan ‘don’t be silent when you see violence’, to encourage ordinary residents, like us, to speak up when we see violence or disrespect towards women.  They want to bring hope to those women and children who are trapped in domestic violence, or controlling relationships. They want to give hope that there is a way out.

Today is the first Sunday of advent and our theme is hope.

Friends, there are some truly horrific things happening in our world today; I don’t need to tell you that. Climate change, global warming, war, racism, oppression, the buying and selling of humans, huge inequality between the rich who just get richer and the poor who die of their poverty. There’s injustice all around, and there is prevalence of fear; total gut wrenching, crippling fear.

People are fleeing for safety and are dying in their attempts. And in the 21st century we are still having to educate people, or commit ourselves, to speak up against violence and disrespect where we see it. It beggars belief.

And yet, I can’t get away from hope! I can’t move without being bombarded by the blessings of the creator. Just like the fig tree in this morning’s gospel, so hope is sprouting her own leaves everywhere I look. She is all over the place and she is a magnet, a real draw, irresistible in her approach and totally beguiling!

People are being drawn to our community and are encountering the source of all Love. We are recognising afresh that we are standing on holy ground here and this is a place where healing and wholeness spring up, even through the cracks in solid concrete, and there is nothing we can do to tame it or to stop it. I am thankful for that which has gone before and al that has led to this point – the good and the bad. I am grateful for the hard slog you lot have put in. And I am hopeful, so hope-filled for our future together because I feel like, what we are waiting for here is a time of rejoicing, a time of jubilee. ‘Our redemption is near’ – that’s what Jesus calls it. I can’t help feeling absolute hope, even in the midst of some real shit.

Hope is a fierce beast.

She texts her frantic fiancé, saying help is on the way.

She refuses to be silent in the face of violence.

She flees abusive partners when her life is in danger.

She turns a convict-built hostile place, designed as an asylum for women, into a glorious vibrant arts centre (I discovered that piece of heaven on earth this week too!).

And she stands, defiant, when the dangers and difficulties and darkness of this world threaten to overwhelm her.

‘When these things begin to take place’, Jesus says, ‘stand up and raise your heads’

My 4am sermon was right – advent is a time of waiting. But it was also so wrong. It’s not a time where we need to fill the space of that waiting with all this activity. It is a space in time where we need to simply stand. Stand up. Raise your heads. Hope is coming. Hope is on its way. And hope will not disappoint us.

And if hope leads us into action, all the better. If hope encourages us to speak out or speak up or make change or resist change then go with it. Let hope take you by the hand and lead you in the paths she walks.

And as we encounter those who are without hope right now, may we offer ourselves to be bringers of it.

Stand up, raise your heads, hope is drawing near. Amen.

Christ the King 2021

John 18: 33-37

I need to prefix today’s sermon with something of a caveat, on this day when we ‘celebrate’ that Christ is King. Much to my mum’s disgust, I am no monarchist, and maybe the echoes of Kingship and ruling and authority grate on you too. But can we try to shelve those strong emotions briefly because Christ’s Kingdom is no dictatorship or oppressive regime – everything we know about ruling and authority is entirely other in Christ’s rule. Thanks be to God. So with that in mind, fasten your seatbelts and let’s dive in.

We had a wonderful time this morning, didn’t we?!

All manner of amazingness happened at South Beach and we loudly and publicly declared – in word and action, that CHRIST IS KING. Josie proclaimed Jesus as her King and made some profound promises to try to follow him and we who are baptised, reaffirmed them too. And today, the church worldwide reminds herself, and her community that Jesus Christ is King – King of the World, King of the Church, our King.

So the gospel passage is kind of peculiar, don’t you think? A bit jarring. Maybe some context might be useful…

This passage comes immediately after the events of the last supper.  Jesus has told his closest friends that the time has come for him to be handed over to be killed.  Judas has left, collected his blood money, and is lying in wait for the moment of betrayal.  Jesus and his disciples have wandered across to the gardens nearby, and as they walk, Judas leads a heavily armed detachment of soldiers and religious leaders to meet him.  As they come face-to-face with Jesus, they fall to the ground in his presence, and then gather themselves.  They capture him, beat him and hand him over to certain death…and that is where our gospel passage this morning begins.  A beaten and bloodied Jesus is before Pilate and asked ‘are you the King of the Jews?’. 

And Jesus doesn’t answer the question.  He just stands, broken and half-naked, and asks a different question ‘Do you ask me this on your own, or did others tell you about me?’.  In this whole exchange he frustratingly never answers the question.

And I don’t know why, because he totally could. 

YES! I’m the King of the Jews. Yes, I’m the ruler of all the kings of the earth. I’m the alpha and the omega.  He doesn’t tell him that just as he is being presented before the jeering crowd today, soon He will be presented before the Ancient of Days and given his true Kingship. 

He doesn’t tell Pilate all the things he’s done… I’ve healed the sick and raised the dead.  I’ve eaten with outcasts.  I’ve spent time with the hated and kissed the untouchables.  I’ve called out lies and falsehood and injustice.  I’ve taken the lowest and the least, the uneducated and the hated and empowered them to pass on my message to generations to come.

But he doesn’t say any of that. He just gives this elusive answer…  ‘my kingdom is not from this world’, he says, and how right he is.  His kingdom was not like the kingdom of Caesar or Pilate or Herod; a kingdom that operated on violence and oppression and the ruling classes trampling on everyone else.  It was, and is, entirely other.

It is a kingdom based on truth, not on power.  A kingdom based on love, not hatred or fear.  This is a whole different currency, and to the world, and to Pilate, and to people seeking to build kingdoms in the 21st century, it doesn’t make any sense, but that is the subversive, counter-cultural rule of Christ the King.

The Kingdom of Christ turns the whole kingly order of things upside down.  He didn’t come in the way a king should come and he didn’t live recognisably as a king. His crown was about to be one of thorns and his throne was a brutal cross.  What have you done Jesus?  This is not kingly.  Are you really the king?

And Pilate’s question rings out today too, in this generation, because people are still searching for Truth. Looking for freedom and liberation, and they might glance at the church and wonder if maybe it could be true.  Could Jesus be our King?  Jesus’ Kingdom is not like Queen Elizabeth’s or Scott Morrison’s or any kingdom of this world.  It’s not, but could it be relevant even now? Could it be something – some place – better and trustworthy and true?

For Josie today, and those of us who call ourselves Christian, we believe it is.  We believe Jesus is King, and is good, and rules with justice and equity, not just testifying to the truth but actually being Truth; we believe he is the alpha and the omega and his kingship shall never be destroyed.  At least, we’ve committed our lives to living as if we believe it, even on days when we don’t or can’t.

But what are we doing, that shows we are citizens of a kingdom that is not from this world?  What are we doing, to point to Christ the King, and His Kingdom here, in Beaconsfield?  A kingdom of peace and non-violence; a kingdom of life and light and love and freedom; a kingdom of good news, where the hungry are fed and the homeless are housed, where the naked are clothed and the lonely have friends; where prisons and hospitals are empty and the environment is clean and green. 

A Kingdom where its citizens gather by the ocean at early o’ clock to publicly die to sin and rise to new life in Christ the King – a sure sign we are either mad, or serious about this…or both.

Today Josie nailed her colours to the mast. She joined the ranks of those who are baptised children of God. That kind of membership will never be repealed. She will be a baptised child of the King forever. And for those of us who are counted in that number, we too have nailed our colours to the mast…or rather, we have handed  ourselves over to be nailed to the throne of our Lord – we have died with Christ and been raised to new life in Him.

Will we live every day for our King and for the building of His Kingdom here on earth, as it is in Heaven?

Now to Him who sits on the throne, be all dominion and glory and Kingship, now and forever, Amen.

Remembrance Sunday 2021

Mark 13: 1-8

When I meet people for the first time, they inevitably notice my accent and ask where I come from. I’ve been really interested by my own response! You’ve heard me talk about the parish and town I left and how much I loved Hartlepool, and those stories will continue ad nauseum, but I’ve found myself saying ‘I’m originally from Coventry… spent about ten years in Yorkshire…and moved here from the North East coast’ and I’ve realised – hardly surprisingly – that all three of those places have been home and hold a piece of my heart. And already, I now count here in that number too. I’m home here. Anyways…

I am what is known as a Cov Kid – born and raised in the city of Coventry, smack bang in the middle of England and I’m dead proud of my first city; it is a city of peace and reconciliation, a city of sanctuary for countless people seeking asylum from all around the world, and it has a fairly dreadful football team who break my heart each season. But, this week, as we have commemorated Remembrance Day, and I’ve been thinking about this morning’s readings, my birth city has been particularly on my mind, and I’ll tell you why…

On 14th November 1940, eighty-one-years-ago-today, 500 German planes flew over the city of Coventry, dropping 500 tonnes of high explosives and 36,000 incendiary bombs.  Two thirds of Coventry’s buildings and factories were affected, 568 people lost their lives and more than a 1000 were injured.  Over 2000 homes were destroyed and a further 41,000 were damaged.  The German Official News Agency described the raid on Coventry as the most severe in the history of war. 

The morning after the attack, the city was burning – visible from miles and miles around and only the spire, and external walls of the great Cathedral remained intact. From the top of the spire the provost and stonemason surveyed the damage and saw the two enormous roof beams that had fallen last.  They were lying, as they fell, on top of the smouldering rubble, in the shape of a cross.  And, right there, with thick smoke in the air and the embers still red hot, the Provost made some history-making decisions; he resolved that Coventry Cathedral’s legacy would be one of peace, not retribution.  And the church would be rebuilt to the glory of God.

He immediately went to work, for peace.   He took the charred roof beams, bound them together as they were, piled some rubble to form a basic altar, and stood this cross behind it so mass could be celebrated there within hours.

He then collected the roof nails and shaped them into crosses to send across the world, to leaders and people in authority, as a symbol of reconciliation and as an invitation to join him in becoming peace builders for the future.

And then, he took another charred beam and in this great building, with stones thrown down, and not one left upon another, he scored two words in the wall of the apse behind the crude altar.  He wrote them in foot high lettering, and it simply said FATHER FORGIVE.

FATHER FORGIVE.

And he stopped there.  FATHER FORGIVE.

Provost Howard was not heralded as an amazing man, nor a brave, prophetic and wise Priest. In fact, he was vilified in the press and thought a fool.  How, on the morning after such destruction could he write FATHER FORGIVE without any indication that it was clearly the Germans who needed forgiveness?  How could he dare to imply anyone else might need forgiveness too?  If he had to write something holy, why did he not at least finish the sentence, and write FATHER FORGIVE THEM?

When asked, he plainly stated we can never point the finger at ‘them’; that in war and destruction, there is never US and THEM.  There are never ‘those that need forgiving’, and those who don’t; but forgiveness is something we all need, all the time. 

Father, forgive. 

Forgive this hatred and destruction.  Forgive what will be done in retaliation.  Forgive this world that speaks a language of war and not love.  Forgive, because we are ALL in grave need of your mercy.  Now, just as much as then. Forgive as we recall and remember. Forgive, even when we forget.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have been led astray and not followed you as we know we should.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have failed to see that sometimes destruction brings new life and a new way of thinking that is better than all that has gone before.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have been alarmed at the state of the world and forgive because we haven’t been.

FATHER FORGIVE, because nation is rising against nation and kingdom against kingdom, and we are not people of peace and reconciliation.

FATHER FORGIVE, because there are earthquakes and famines, and we are suffering compassion fatigue and are paralysed because we don’t know how to help…or have failed to notice.

FATHER FORGIVE, because we have dominated and destroyed your world and we are not doing what we can to heal it.

FATHER…FORGIVE…

Provost Howard spoke prophetically in writing these words.  He knew of his, and our own, need for forgiveness, even when we are the victim.  And maybe he could glimpse that sometimes large stones and large buildings, and systems and structures, need to be demolished, thrown down, before something good and pure and holy and redemptive can spring up in its place.

Because, if the blitz on Coventry hadn’t happened, I wonder if that city would have ever become one that is this devoted to peace and reconciliation and welcome.  I wonder if that spirit would have sprung up without first the tearing down.  I don’t know.  But I do know that we worship a God who is a redeemer, and that good things always come in the place of hurt and brokenness.  I know that God does not leave things demolished and destroyed but is always, ALWAYS, in the redeeming and rebuilding business.

And maybe, today, we face situations that feel like they are broken and permanently ruined?  Or maybe there are things in and around us that may need to be pulled down and destroyed too, for peace and wholeness to be built in its place?  For the Kingdom of God to be fully established. Whatever it is, as we navigate our way – externally and internally – through distractions, wars, earthquakes and famine, may we always trust in the future kingdom that the Lord is building here, and as we wait for the perfect rebuilding, and total redemption may we actively contribute to the building of it, and always be quick to pray; FATHER FORGIVE.  Amen.

Breaking up is hard to do…

“It’s not you, it’s me, but we just can’t be together any more…I’m sorry…”

This week I have thought, then whispered, then stated these words, defiantly.

No…it’s not the world’s shortest marriage! It’s a conversation I am having with my FitBit*.

*(other step counters and smart watches also apply)

I’m sorry, FitBit; I know we have been together for such a long time and have shared so much fun together. We have been to some amazing places, and you have counted my steps – every single one of them – literally every step of the way. I mean, if you weren’t there, did I even work out??

I have hovered at the top of the FitBit leaderboard for weeks at a time and, when my trusty friend beeps at me to say I haven’t done 250 steps in *this* hour, I have got up and walked…or waved my arm around in the car as I drive…(surely it’s not just me who does that?!).

But I’m having something of a midlife crisis I think, and I’m completely re-evaluating diet and exercise and body image and self esteem and I am terrified and excited about this, in equal measure, and I want to share it with you at this point; the point where I have so many more questions than answers; the point where I don’t really know what I can do or be or become; the point where I feel challenged right to the very core of my being; this point, where I realise in a scarily profound way that I have been a slave to ‘being thin’ for at least the last 30 years, probably longer. And it has to stop. Beginning with the loss of my FitBit!

We have just come back from a glorious honeymoon, which was wonderful in every way. We sampled some of the most amazing food and wines from the stunningly beautiful wine regions of Western Australia. We have eaten and drunk our way around the Swan River and Margaret River, and beyond, and it has been blissful. And as we have travelled, so I have been reading a book called STRONGER (you can find it here… https://www.amazon.com.au/Stronger-Changing-Everything-Womens-Strength/dp/1529050812/ref=sr_1_9?keywords=stronger&qid=1636535621&sr=8-9)

In this book, Poorna Bell writes some incredible truths that have been hidden from me for decades. She writes that exercise can simply be for fun (what? Not for burning the most calories and ‘getting rid’ of last night’s curry?!). She says that exercise can be used simply to get fit and to become strong. And I never knew, not fully, that this was true. Society, the patriarchy, social media, and my own inner voice, have all told me that exercise is to get thin, stay thin, maybe get fit (but only to help with the thin thing)…and if you happen to enjoy it then you’re lucky, but, even if you don’t, you have to do it anyways because otherwise you will be F A T – and there’s nothing worse than that.

Friends, this inner voice talks bullshit. And she needs to be taught to sit down and shut up.

So I find myself here, on 10th November 2021, almost certainly weighing more than I ever have before (because I’ve not counted a single calorie since England, and I haven’t topped the leaderboard on my FitBit either), wanting so desperately to be free of this addiction to what the scales say…wanting to be free from the obsession over how many bloody steps I’ve taken today…wanting, really longing, to know the answers to some of these questions…

  • What does it feel like to be hungry?
  • What does it feel like to be comfortably full and then STOP eating?
  • Why is my sense of self worth tied up in what I weigh?
  • What if the ‘some foods are good and some foods are bad’ premise is actually a lie?!
  • What if exercise was purely for fun??
  • What would happen if I never weighed myself again, and just ate what I fancied, when I was hungry, and stopped when I was full???

You might be reading this and thinking ‘you can’t really mean that?’ but, genuinely, truly and honestly, I don’t know the answers to these questions but MAN, I want to find out. And I am determined to go on a journey of discovery to try to answer them because I’ve tried the whole diet-exercise-binge-starve-gain-lose-self-love-self-loathe cycle for way too long and it’s not right.

I would go as far as to say it’s not what God wants for me! I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Psalm 139 tells me so. And my addictions and obsessions do not lead me to live life in all its abundance, as promised in John 10:10. I’ve got it wrong. Really wrong.

And. I. Am. Done.

So, I am breaking up with my FitBit first. And I am going to walk along the beach because IT IS STUNNING and it is only 2 blocks away and because it makes my heart and soul glad and gives me space to thank the Creator of it all – and not because I have to hit 15,000 steps.

And I am going to try every last one of the crazy workouts available to me in this amazing part of the world – if they sound like fun to me. And if I enjoy them, I will do them again – BECAUSE THEY ARE FUN, not to burn off food that was delicious.

And, can I also say, I am scared of this? I am worried about embarking on this stage of the journey. And I don’t quite understand what my fear is (except the irrational fear that, as I said, I will get fat…and my brain is conditioned to believe that fat is bad…which is absolutely wrong).

So I am committing to blogging about it because it feels significant (to me) and maybe like something others might have thoughts and feelings about. I would love to know what you think.

Right: first up…aerial yoga!!

Jesus’ 4-word Sermon

Mark 12: 28-34

If feedback from congregation members was, in any way, a measure of the ‘success’ of a sermon I could reliably inform you that my two ‘best ones’ so far were the first one, where I told you I only have one sermon – many of you have asked me about that statement – and the other was the one where I mentioned Bunnings – largely because of my terribly British pronunciation of it, and your inherent love of the place!

Anyways…if it were true that there really is only one sermon, then Jesus seems to be the true modeller of that theory. And today’s gospel reading really boils down all his teaching, all his life, into just four very simple words:

LOVE GOD

LOVE OTHERS

And that is it. Jesus’ message and life’s work, in 4 words – Love God, love others.

I seriously considered just saying those 4 words today and then sitting down, and if there is anywhere in the world where I could legitimately do that, it is almost certainly here, and some of you are almost certainly longing for me to do exactly that, but I want to say a few more things before we take time to sit and reflect.

Love God. Love others. The 4 most important words in all scripture.

Imagine if those 4 words were the measure by which we made every decision, every choice, every single deed. Does this thing demonstrate I love God? Does this choice enable me to love others more?  How can my time be used better in the quest of love? That is how it is supposed to be. It’s not a golden aspiration or aim we can never reach. It’s the plan! The greatest of all commandments. It is possible. Everything we do, don’t do, spend, give, take, everything we even are is intended to be for love of God and others.

So, the question is not, should we love God or could we love God. The only question is how. How Lord, how can we love you and love others well.  Better.

In the four short Sundays we’ve been together we have already had some great examples of what loving God and others looks like. We explored the need to lay down all we have, even our very lives if we need to, and come to God hungry and expectant, willing to place ourselves in the very hands of God that we might, as that gorgeous Methodist Covenant Prayer says ‘be employed for you or laid aside for you, exalted for you or brought low for you….’  Last week we considered how we might love God by throwing ourselves upon God’s mercy….and love others by extending that same mercy to them.

Jesus preaches throughout scripture but the message is always the same:

Love God, love others.

Yesterday I went along to the diocesan training on keeping children safe from sexual abuse. Many of you have been on the course, I know. It was shocking and deeply concerning and the church has a long way to go until all God’s children are safe within her walls but, do you know, one of the things that really shocked me, (particularly as I was thinking about this morning’s reading) was when the trainer shared words from scripture about forgiveness. She seemed to be saying we should forgive those who abuse children and extend love to them. And then she said, ‘but only the ones who are repentant’.

But I don’t think that is what Jesus says in his 4-word sermon.

You see, love is a gift from God; a fruit of the Spirit. It is the very source and essence of who God is – not just something t we somehow muster up. Friends, loving like Christ is life giving, life threatening. But there are no caveats; it is not ours to arbitrate or ration. Like mercy, it is a gift we are given, in abundance, not to keep, but always to pass on – whether or not we think the recipient deserves it. And when we love we become more and more like the Creator. More and more like the One we seek to love.

Love God. Love Others.

And our most perfect example is found in Christ. And how does Christ Jesus love?

He Loves, outrageously and indiscriminately.  He Loves, even when the world tells us to hate.  Or even, especially when the world tells us to hate. 

Jesus loved his disciples with everything he had and everything he was and everything he did. He loved them when they were loveable and when they were utterly unlovable. He loved through healing, feeding the hungry and welcoming the outcasts.  He loved the sinners and the untouchables.  He loved through touch, hospitality and welcome. He loved all people; Jews and Gentiles, men, women and children, those who were sick, paralysed, possessed with demons.  He even loved the dead…and loved them back to life.  He loved and loved and loved, in every thought, word and deed…and then commands us to do the same. 

Giving our lives over to love is crazy and bold and all-consuming and life altering and Jesus said it over and over.  It was his one and only sermon!

And in these pages of scripture He is speaking to us as individuals, and to the church as a whole; this is our commandment.  This is how we should behave to the person next to us and how the church should be behaving to the world.  This is what we should be known for.

Love God and Love Others, Jesus says. Love Extravagantly and unconditionally.  Love in every thought, word and deed, and continue to keep on choosing to do so, even when it hurts, even when we don’t want to, even when we aren’t thanked or noticed, even when we aren’t loved back.  Love more abundantly, more outrageously, more like Christ. 

Jesus’ teachings are simple. Easy to understand, but world-changing if we take them seriously. If we are serious about joining and remaining in this Jesus movement, it will take us to the very edge of ourselves. It will cost us everything and give us back even more. All through this crazy revolution of love.

You know, sometimes I’d really like to just say 4 words as a sermon, and then sit down. Maybe I should.

Love God. Love Others.

Amen.

Sermon from 24/10/21

Mark 10: 46-52

Every day that we get to live in this place, something else strikes me as beautiful or amazing, and reminds me how incredibly lucky I am! Drinks around the fire-pit, conversations with new friends, clear blue skies, another vegan cake to try, and yesterday it was the stunning display of poppies in our grounds. They’re simply beautiful, aren’t they? And they’re everywhere! And yesterday, what really struck me was this one little poppy, popping out of the concrete outside the garage door.

Have you looked closely at a poppy lately? Their petals are paper thin, and their stalks are whispy and easy to snap – especially when they are small and young – and yet, something inside this plant is so strong, so tenacious, that it can burrow its way through inches of concrete and push its little poppy head through and out into sunlight. Now, to me, that speaks volumes about the intricate care and concern of the Creator – the commitment of a tiny plant, to reach the surface and survive, says a great deal about the Divine, but it also says something to me about the man we met in this morning’s gospel passage. The tenacity of the poppy resonates somehow with the ballsy blind Bartimaeus.

Bartimaeus, unashamedly and purposefully rejects his place in society, shouts aloud, refuses to be silenced, throws off his begging cloak and runs to Jesus. And what does he ask for? Yes, he asks to be able to see again. But what is it that he first asks for? Mercy. He asks for mercy.

Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me. Again he says it; son of David, have mercy on me. As tenacious, bold and ballsy as those poppies, Bartimaeus throws himself at the feet of the one he is declaring as King and begs for mercy.

The healing of the blind man is amazing, miraculous, the bit of the story we always focus on, but this week I’ve been unable to get away from this desperate cry for mercy. It’s the same cry we have heard from Job these last few weeks; it’s the same cry the wretched psalmist writes of, it’s the same gift that each priest – since the dawn of time – begs for, because we can’t follow this calling in our own strength – it’s there in each one of our readings; Son of David, Creator God, Holy One, have mercy.

And I wonder if this gift of mercy is one of our best kept secrets.

I wonder if mercy is what the world today, what the people of our parish, are really searching for. Because what does mercy look like, with skin on?

In our gospel reading, showing mercy meant the blind could see.

But if we were to greet everyone we met, or every person we heard about, with mercy, what transformation might occur?

When we see through the eyes of mercy, we become agents of reconciliation and forgiveness, the homeless are given somewhere to live, the lonely find company, the hungry receive food, the stranger knows warm welcome. When we choose to act with mercy the poor no longer languish in poverty, the naked get to wear the best clothes, the chains of oppression are broken, there is no us and them, just one community, one family. Could we be merciful people? Could we be known for our mercy?

And what about if we place ourselves on that roadside, in that cloak of Bartimaeus? What about when we are the ones who need mercy? Might we begin to recognise again, or for the first time, our absolute dependence upon the mercy of the One we are tentatively trying to follow, and, perhaps even more exposing, our very need of the mercy of one another? Imagine if we forgot about ourselves, cared much less about what people thought, and threw off our proverbial cloaks, leapt to our proverbial feet and cried out ‘Lord, friends, have mercy on me’.

It was through the request (demand, even) for mercy that Bartimaeus regained his sight. Just consider, what might our Lord restore to us if we were to ask the same?

Going back to those poppies: they won’t be stopped. They refuse to be tamed. They will spring up wherever the heck they want to, like it or not. And formerly blind Bartimaeus was the same. He wouldn’t be shushed or held back. He wouldn’t stay seated or keep quiet.

Son of David, have mercy on me, let me see again.

We would do well to take lessons from the poppies and the beggar and throw ourselves on that same mercy, with tenacity and determination, asking for God’s mercy whilst also asking for our eyes to be opened to those around us who also need that same gift that we know and need.

Greater minds than mine, down through many centuries, have taken the words, of this social outcast and have used them as meditative prayer, repeating over and over; Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Books are written about what has come to be known as the Jesus prayer – bishops, monks, and many others swear by it. So, I invite you now to spend a few minutes praying those words silently too, one alongside another, as we ask God to have mercy upon us, and to give us the grace we need to extend that gift of mercy towards others.

Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen.

I wonder…

A sermon from St Paul’s Beaconsfield, WA, on Sunday 17th October, from Mark 10: 32 – 45 – you can read a link to it here… https://bible.oremus.org/?ql=501465079

I received a card from a wonderful friend back home this week and in it she wrote… ‘God gave me a message for you and said this: God is with you in Australia but speaks with a different accent, so you’ll need to listen carefully’. Then Craig and I were in Bunnings and he had this super fast conversation with the shop assistant and I think I caught about 20% of what they were saying, so I’m definitely trying to fine tune my listening skills, but on Tuesday evening I went along to the bible study that John runs each week – 7:30pm in the meeting room, highly recommended – and God spoke, right there, in many and clear ways and I need to share some of those holy riches with you this morning.

We began the study as they do each time – reading the gospel passage twice through and then going around the room, asking ‘I wonder’ type questions: things like ‘I wonder what Jesus meant by drinking the cup he drinks’, ‘I wonder what sitting at the right and left mean, and what glory really is’ and ‘I wonder what being baptised with the same baptism as Christ means’. And nobody offered answers or explanations, we just wondered for a while – just sat with the mystery instead of rushing ahead to the answer. And then we kind of wandered through our wonderings and thought together about what they might mean.

And. God. Was. With. Us.

And it was wonderful – wonder FULL, literally – and also deeply unsettling, really quite uncomfortable.

So, James and John spit out this request that is really quite rude and also pretty familiar, isn’t it? Jesus, we want you to do for us whatever we ask. Can you relate to prayers of your own that might sound similar? Shopping list prayers! Jesus, heal my dad, stop it raining, find me a parking space, give me this job? Some of them are really good requests, but more often they are my will be done prayers, rather than thy will be done.

James and John do it in spectacular style here, but I think it was ever thus. Jesus, teacher, do for us whatever we ask. And Jesus replies, in Jesus’ infinite grace and mercy, ‘what do you want me to do for you?’ What is it that you want? And they tell him – let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory. When we fast forward through the death, flogging, spitting, and mockery you speak of, can we have our own comfy thrones next to you, either side?

And Jesus says, ‘you don’t know what you are asking’. And I think they kind of do know what they’re asking – they want to be seated in full view in glory. They want a reward, to look important, they do know what they are asking. What they don’t know is what it takes to get there, what the path of discipleship really is. And let’s just wonder about that for a few minutes…

Can you drink the cup I drink?

Can you be baptised with the baptism I am baptised with?

Friends, listen to that because these two questions of Jesus are not just to James and John. They’re not just questions for 1st century Palestinian followers of the itinerant Rabbi Jesus. They are questions for all of us who are tentatively trying to walk this path of discipleship

Can we drink the cup? Can we be baptised? What does it even mean?!

Well, here’s the thing: it is an invitation to certain death. It really is. Last week we were invited to give up all we had, sell all our possessions, and follow Jesus. And today, we see where that road goes. It is the road that leads to life, never forget that, but first it is the road that journeys through death. It costs us all we are and all we have, even our very lives.

Can you drink the cup I drink, Jesus asks? That’s not just the cup of wine from the last supper, but the cup of suffering that Jesus begs God to take from him in the garden of gethsemane: if it is possible, take this cup from me: yet not what I will but what you will. Can you drink from that cup James? John? Can you? Can we?

And can you be baptised with the baptism I am baptised with? Baptism is the sacrament in which we die – we don’t tell that to parents who bring their little babies in their frilly hats to the font – but it really is the sacrament in which we enact our death – we drown our old lives, drown our sins in those waters of baptism and rise again to new life, to freedom, healing, forgiveness. Can you take that baptism, Jesus asks. Can you die, will you die, for me, that you might live?

And what about this glory James and John ask after? Can we sit beside you, one on your left and one on your right in your glory?  Doesn’t that resound with painful  images of Golgotha – where our Lord hung on the cross with two criminals, one on his right and one on his left – and where his true glory was revealed, where the centurion declared, on behalf of all humanity for all time, ‘surely this man was – is – the Son of God’.

When James and John make their demand, Jesus is so right when he says, ‘you don’t know what you are asking’. Can we sit beside you? Well, I don’t know about that, Jesus says, that’s up to God, but if you really want to be counted there among the glory, this is the way the road goes to get there – it goes through suffering and unto death and then, onwards to resurrection. But to reach glory, the way there is the way of death.

And for those of us who are committing our lives to bear the name Christian, for those of us who are daring to believe that this Jesus stuff is real and has something to say to 21st Century living, we are signing up to death. And how we are also signing up to life!

It is an upside-down kingdom where the first are last, where the greatest are the slaves and servants, and where we only gain life by embracing death. It doesn’t make sense and the world calls it boring but Jesus’ message, Jesus’ call is not for the fainthearted. It is fierce, all encompassing, life changing, REAL. And, as that great hymn reminds us, it demands my soul, my life, my all.

As I said last week, and will say often, it is costly and compelling. And it is for you.

I wonder, will you follow? Amen.